New York, Actually: A sparkling romantic comedy from the bestselling Queen of Romance. Sarah Morgan
I forget to mention it. The flowers arrived and they’re beautiful, thank you. Now tell me why you’re stressed.”
“I’m never stressed. Only calm, and slightly less calm.” Giving up the pretense, he rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the tension. “The ability of the human being to screw up its own life never ceases to amaze me.”
“I hate to be the one to point this out, but that’s the reason this is a busy and thriving law firm. If we all got it right, you’d be out of a job.” She set the files down on his desk. “These are for you. And in case you’ve forgotten, it’s Audrey’s birthday today, too. They’re in the kitchen eating cake. If you have a minute, I know it would mean a lot if you could join them. I don’t want to contemplate what our working day would be like without Audrey, and Max is driving her insane. A few words from you would be compensation.”
Audrey was one of the paralegals. She’d been with the firm for two years and had proved herself indispensable after five minutes.
“Thanks for the reminder. And I’ll speak to Max.” Pushing aside thoughts of Elisa and what a reconciliation would mean for the children, Daniel checked the documents and signed. “Have you ever heard of someone called Aggie?”
“The relationship expert?”
“How is it that everyone knows this woman except me?”
“Are you in the habit of asking for advice on relationships?”
“Why would I ask for advice on relationships? I’ve seen every permutation of relationship known to man. And woman.”
“And yet you’re single.”
“Which is why I’m single. So tell me what you know about Aggie.”
Marsha smiled. “She’s wonderful. I bought her book.”
“She’s written a book?”
“Mate for Life. You didn’t see it? It was at the top of all the bestseller lists and in every bookstore.”
“I shop online, a consequence of never leaving my office during store opening hours.”
“It was online, too. Excellent book. She’s wise and sensible.”
“Really? Because she told Elisa and Henry they should get back together for the sake of the children. I don’t see anything wise or sensible about that.”
Marsha pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would be better for the children.”
“Are you kidding? Elisa and Henry loathe each other. Their children will be permanently scarred. Why people think that is the best outcome completely escapes me.” Intercepting the curious look in Marsha’s face, Daniel inhaled slowly and gestured to his laptop. “Find me something she has written. I need to know more about her.”
“That should be easy.” Marsha walked around his desk. “You could start by reading the letter Max wrote to her.”
“He wrote to her?” Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “As a joke, I assume?”
“Why would you assume that? We both know Max needs serious help in the relationship department. Remember the coffee machine he bought his girlfriend as a gift?”
“Call me insensitive, but my interest in my team’s personal life only extends to serious life events, not gift choices.”
“This was serious.” Marsha clicked on a link. “He bought her a coffee machine. She sold it on eBay. They broke up.”
Daniel frowned. “Why did she sell it? Wrong brand?”
“She doesn’t drink coffee.”
Daniel started to laugh. “And he had to write to ask what he’d done wrong?”
“This is Max we’re talking about, so yes. He said that a coffee machine made him happy, and that she should be happy that he was happy. She didn’t see it that way. How he ever passed the bar I will never know.”
“As you say, he’s a brilliant lawyer and ferociously bright.”
“Not when it comes to women. Here.” She scrolled down. “Read. Not that you need any help with relationships.”
Ask a Girl.
The words were picked out in a bold blue.
Daniel frowned. “‘Ask a Girl’ what? What sort of things do people ask?”
“Anything. Everything. Her advice is honest and direct. She has a huge following.”
“So she really knows how to milk it.”
“She’s a businesswoman. She has a gift, and knowledge, and she uses it. It’s not like you to deride a woman for being smart.”
“I’m not deriding her for being smart. I’m deriding her for taking advantage of the vulnerable and giving dangerous advice.”
“That’s your opinion, Daniel. And although plenty of folks pay squillions of dollars an hour to hear your opinion, it doesn’t mean you’re always right on everything.”
“I’m right on this.”
“Her column is good. Interesting. I read it every week. We all do.”
“All?”
“All of the women here, and even some of the men. The blog is only part of it. She answers questions, and I think she offers one-to-one relationship counseling over the phone.”
Daniel scrolled through the pages of her website. “There’s no photo. What does she look like?”
“She never uses a photo. Just the heart logo.”
“So she doesn’t have a last name, and she won’t show her face. Anyone who won’t show their face must have a reason. Maybe she’s not a person. Maybe she’s a bunch of computer tech guys laughing their heads off.”
“No way would the advice she gives ever have been written by a guy.”
“That’s sexist.”
“It’s true,” she said drily. “Read for yourself.”
He read.
Dear Aggie, there’s a woman at work who is a goddess. I’m an ordinary guy, nothing special. How can a man like me ever attract the attention of someone like her? Am I wasting my time? Yours, Underconfident.
Daniel glanced up in disbelief. “This is a joke, yes?”
“It’s real.”
“And does she give an answer? Mine would be, yes, you’re wasting your time. Grow a spine.”
“Which is why you’re not the one answering the question. Not that I expect you to understand, but some men have trouble approaching women. They don’t all have your success rate.”
Daniel thought about the woman in the park. His success rate had taken a serious tumble. “Does she reply?”
“Scroll down. Her reply is underneath. And people are allowed to post their advice, too. It’s a community.”
“A community of people who don’t know what they’re talking about. Kill me now. Dear Underconfident—” his gaze flicked briefly to Marsha “—can you believe someone actually called himself that?”
“I think it’s adorably honest.”
“It’s prophetic. You are what you think you are.” He read on. “Dear Underconfident, everyone is special in their own way—seriously? Can you get me a bucket? I’m feeling ill.”
“Just because you’re not the sentimental type, doesn’t mean it’s rubbish. Not everyone is afraid of emotion.”
“Just